Page 73 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Jesus. My body heats, but only for half of that fantasy. “Do you want that?”

“No. Pain isn’t my kink.”

“Thank Christ, because I would not get off on hurting you.” Although tying her up would be fun. A naked Maggie at my mercy.

“Would you have, though?” she pushes, studying my face. “If BDSM were something I wanted, would you have tried it?”

“I guess, yeah. Once to see if I could handle it.” I lean into her ear and whisper, “My safeword would be Gingersnap.”

She tips her head back and laughs. “That would cause me to inflict more pain on you, not less.”

“So I’m the submissive in this fantasy of yours?”

“I don’t have BDSM fantasies, babe. I love our sex life as it is.”

“But you don’t sleep over because of your past, right?” I ask gently. “Like reading is a way to deal with the wild side you don’t want to unleash, keeping distance is your way of protecting yourself too. Not putting yourself in a position to be hurt or abandoned, like with your mom.” And like with me, I don’t add. Disappearing on her without a word.

She focuses on the wooden railing, picks at a loose splinter. “I’m practically a poster child for abandonment issues, aren’t I?”

I wrap my arm around her, tug her into my side. “Sorry to push. I just want to understand you better.”

She leans her head on my chest. “I don’t mind talking about it. I mean, it’s not easy. Admitting weakness is hard, especially when it feels irrational. But it’s nice being honest for a change.”

“Amen to that. Ten years of lying was no picnic.”

“It must have been brutal,” she says, her voice tinged with sadness.

“It wasn’t awesome, but I had fun at times. Invented wild stories to entertain myself.”

“Of course you did.” She wraps her arms around my waist in a comforting hug. “What was one of the best?”

“Definitely the time I told a coworker I grew up on a farm and lost my left foot to a tractor accident. I limped around a bunch, and he did half my work for me.”

“Such a manipulator.”

“I learned from the best,” I say, less amused.

“You’re nothing like your father, Lennon. You’re kind and caring. You love your family fiercely and have been incredibly sweet and patient with me.”

“Thank you,” I murmur into her hair, breathing in Maggie and her words. The truth that I’m nothing like the betraying man who raised me.

Maybe that’s part of why I hate the idea of using his book money. Profiting off our family’s pain would make me more like him, even though I love my family more than my own life. I’d never choose cash over them. You could use the money to buy your first home. Grow something good out of his deception. Maggie’s advice from weeks ago is even more apt now, and maybe she was right. Maybe turning that money into something good—a home, a real life in this town I love—would make me feel better about myself and my choices, not worse. Proof I’m nothing like that man.

I kiss her temple, brush my lips back and forth over her skin. When that’s not enough, I dip my head down to taste her lips and this deeper honesty she’s shared.

She sighs, tunneling her fingers through the curly ends of my hair. We share slow and gentle kisses—soft swipes of her tongue, a nudge of my nose against hers—like we’re making small promises with every intimate touch.

Normally, this is when I’d ask her to come back to my place. Hope she takes a chance and sleeps over, while preparing myself for her rejection. After tonight’s talk, I hold back. In time, she’ll feel secure in us—in herself—to take that leap.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I say instead.

She cuddles into my side as we meander along the path. Laughter echoes from outside the gallery, the cool November air tickling my nose. I hum the notes to “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

Maggie stops. So suddenly, I stumble and nearly trip us both.

“You okay?” I ask, steadying her.

“Yeah, just…” She swallows and rocks on her heels. “Is it okay if I call you my boyfriend? I mean, only if people ask. I won’t shout it randomly on the street.”